Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Equatorial Guinea and from Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1961 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing Moss Icon to the dance kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by John Cale. All the underground hits.
All The Doobie Brothers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Brothers Johnson record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Simply Red record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Vladislav Delay,
Gong,
Unrelated Segments,
Mandrill,
Pere Ubu,
Marcia Griffiths,
Sam Rivers,
Carl Craig,
Thompson Twins,
Amon Düül II,
Absolute Body Control,
Roxette,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Slave,
Monks,
The Dead C,
Marshall Jefferson,
Chris Corsano,
Livin' Joy,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
the Swans,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Angry Samoans,
Accadde A,
Visage,
The Detroit Cobras,
Porter Ricks,
The Walker Brothers,
Barry Ungar,
Silicon Teens,
The Fall,
Cal Tjader,
Young Marble Giants,
Intrusion,
Eric Copeland,
Matthew Bourne,
The Moleskins,
Ultravox,
Piero Umiliani,
48th St. Collective,
Tim Buckley,
Flipper,
Motorama,
Rapeman,
cv313,
Freddie Wadling,
Television Personalities,
Throbbing Gristle,
Roger Hodgson,
Panda Bear,
Arcadia,
The Names,
Sällskapet,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Trumans Water,
Traffic Nightmare,
Judy Mowatt,
The Fortunes,
La Düsseldorf,
The Busters,
Warsaw, Warsaw, Warsaw, Warsaw.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.